


Delegation (Or: Damn it, Jetstorm!)

by TheMagneticWitch



Series: To Herd Cybercats [2]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angsty., Angsty?, Gen, wow I did not expect the first chapter to be somewhat...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 03:28:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12224805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMagneticWitch/pseuds/TheMagneticWitch
Summary: The sad truth was, this was true. Jetstorm would without a doubt be one of their most invaluable soldiers... if he could actually fragging fly. But the Trine was refusing to go, and Jetstorm was their only other flier.Damn it. Sunstreaker hated being the nominated leader.





	1. Chapter One

"Who is that?"

Sunstreaker was too much a warrior to jump, but it was a near thing. He'd been very engrossed in recreating Sideswipe as he remembered him on the datapad in his servos.

"This-its..." Not nothing, he couldn't say nothing. "Someone I know."

Pyra Magna hummed, "Is he? He's kinda of a similar frame to you, isn't he?"

Sunstreaker hesitated, looking down at the half-finished sketch.

"... His name is Sideswipe," he finally settled on.

Pyra Magna tilted her head curiously, "Sideswipe... Do you know him very well?"

"Of course," he answered before he could stop himself. The femme smiled at him.

"Oh! That's nice. You don't really talk about your friends, Sunstreaker. What's he like?"

Sunstreaker hesitated. Then,

"Sideswipe's... Impulsive. Headstrong. He never listens to orders and always goes off on some half-baked scheme, not to mention how many times I've been dragged into one of his messes because of a prank he's pulled. He's-" _The most important person in the universe to me, I love him and I miss him_ , he wanted to finish, but the words got stuck and wouldn't come out. He couldn't say that out loud, and it felt like a betrayal to his twin that he was unable to. But that was private anyways, for his and Sideswipe's sparks alone.

Pyra Magna was watching him carefully, so Sunstreaker forced his expression to return to its usual neutral state.

"He's important to you," she stated half-musingly. Sunstreaker forced himself to nod.

"He's my twin," he confessed. Pyra Magna's engine rumbled in shock.

"Your twin? But, that would mean—you're a _split-spark?_ " Sunstreaker nodded, carefully avoiding her gaze. He felt oddly vulnerable under the femme's amazed stare; maybe because to her the Golden Age was still less than a vorn ago. There was something terrifying in that knowledge, in being so near to someone whose perspective held fresh the memory of Cybertron strong and undivided. (Or at least not publically so; there was a caste system or something back then, wasn't there?)

_Could we have been like—_ *

But no, such thoughts were less than useless; they were entirely counterproductive.

"Tell me about him," Pyra Magna demanded. Sunstreaker chanced a glance at her, but had to immediately look away when she reached out with her Field.

"He... His favorite color's red. He's... Sideswipe is... He's nicer to me than I deserve even when I'm an aft, and... And he..." For the first time in his life, Sunstreaker realized he wanted to cry. A Cybertronian's crying is a madly fluctuating Field accompanied by a deep, devastated keen escaping from their vocalizer. It was said, he once heard Mirage tell Hound, that Praxian Crystals were the echoes of the truly devastated - which was why simply seeing one could move a mech to great emotional responses. Sunstreaker thought the gap in his spark, the lack of his twin's presence beside him, was akin to those truly devastated mechs whose grief was so great as to be embodied by crystal.

"Sunstreaker?"

He inhaled sharply. Pyra Magna was touching his shoulder pad, and suddenly it was like a dam had broken. He covered his optics with his servos, feeling himself shake. "H-he... _Sideswipe_... he's an idiot and he probaby got himself killed in the stupidest way imaginable and I _miss him!_ He volunteered for a mission and I haven't seen him in _stellar cycles_ , but it's like the first solar cycle every time I online—" Sunstreaker's vocalizer erupted with static, cutting himself off. Pyra Magna made a deeply sympathetic keen.

"Oh, Sunstreaker, I'm sorry—"

"And he always called me _Sunny_!" He nearly wailed, "I told him time and time again I hated that stupid nickname, but that's a _lie_ —I just hated it when he called me that in front of other people! He always said I was his grumpy ball of sunshine, but that's stupid, _he's_  stupid and I _miss him_!" His Field flared outwards, and Pyra Magna began clicking sympathetically deep in her vocalizer. H cringed away from her attempt at reaching out to comfort him.

"Sunstreaker," She said helplessly, but he shook his head.

"Just, go. Please," He tacked on as an afterthought. His gaze was frozen on the incomplete image of Sideswipe's face, wearing a happy expression like Sunstreaker hadn't seen on him since a little while before they last saw each other.

(Eight vorns. Frag the stupid war, frag Prime and Megatron both — _eight vorns was too long to be separated from the other half of his spark, Sunstreaker was literally going insane_ —) Pyra Magna sent him a deeply skeptical look, but with a last gentle stroke of her Field she left. Sunstreaker was alone. Primus, but he was _always_  alone. He'd spent eight entire vorns by himself drifting aimlessly in space, and for the first time he actually had a peer group — and what did he do? Sunstreaker hid, because he was a _coward_. Two hundred forty-two thousand, three hundred sixty solar cycles alone wishing for _someone_ to talk to, and he could barely handle a few breems with company. Sunstreaker truly was a whole new level of socially pathetic.

He offlined his optics, unable to handle another nanoklik of his brother's face when it wasn't actually _him_. (Why did he volunteer for that mission? Was Sunstreaker just that pathetic, even then? He wasn't charming or friendly like Sideswipe tended to be, could his brother simply have gotten fed up with him? Hah. It only took the majority of their lives. That was more patience than most credited the red twin with.) No. Back up. Delete that line of thinking like a bad code. Sunstreaker needed to get a hold of himself. What would Sideswipe think if he saw him drowning in doubt like this? He'd probably assume he was glitching and would drag him off to Ratchet... Which was not a bad idea, considering there was the slightest, miniscule, most remote possibility that Sunstreaker was glitching.

Possibly.

Look, it was a long couple of vorns. _A really, really long couple of vorns._


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "... Just think about it, alright? Consider it an order from your superior," He laughed, and Sunstreaker had the bizarre notion that a joke had just been told.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but eventually the silence was broken.

"Hey, Sunstreaker."

"Go away," he snarled, stiffening, suddenly furious at the intrusion.

Blaster sat beside him on the floor, staring out the window into the vast emptiness of space, and for once the communications officer was utterly relaxed and unconcerned with his infamous temper and barely leashed aggression.

"Nah," he drawled. "You know, Pyra Magna was pretty worried 'bout you. Seem's to think I'm the only adult onboard?"

" _Shut_ _up_!" Sunstreaker barked, subspacing his datapad so he wouldn't accidentally crack it. Blaster stared at him lazily, head tilting like a musing predator; a trick he had no doubt learned from Jazz.

"Huh. That's as good as a confirmation from you, Sunshine."

"You— _give me one reason why I shouldn't pound your fragging face in!_ "

Blaster simply _looked_  at him, and it was like he was seeing down into his very spark.

"... You know, I remember hearing about you and Sides back on Cybertron," the red mech said slowly.

"Congratulations, you have working audials; _everyone knows us_ ," he snapped. Blaster vented, like Sunstreaker was being purposefully obtuse.

"Nah, man. I mean, yeah, everyone knows you, but they don't _know you_. I heard how you lost your temper easily, and sent as many Autobots to the medbay as you did 'Cons to their graves, but I bet none of those stories said anything about you being able to draw."

"What? Of-of course not, it's—drawing serves no practical function in war—" He said, anger giving way to embarrassment.

"And what about after?"

Sunstreaker stared at Blaster helplessly.

"The war _isn't_ going to end, though," the gold mech said slowly. Blaster gave him an unreadable look.

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"What else am I supposed to believe?" He demanded harshly, "I was _built_  for this stupid fragging war, and I don't even know what I'm fighting for! I don't remember Cybertron in it's Golden Age or the caste system; all I remember is coming online and being given blades and guns and told to go shoot the moving targets with purple insignias! What's the _point_  of it all?!"

"Good question," Blaster agreed placidly. Sunstreaker stared at him, torn between fury and bemusement at this suddenly laid-back attitude of the CO's.

"... What the frag," he stated somewhat weakly.

Blaster quirked an odd little smile in his direction.

"What, did you think I was gonna give you some self-righteous speech about how this has all been worth it and paint a pretty picture about how Cybertron wasn't actually that bad? 'Cause I'm plenty of things, but I'm _not_  a liar, Sunshine. I've lost all of my cassettes to this war you know."

Sunstreaker, about to make a retort at the dreaded nickname that seemed to haunt him, immediately closed his mouth.

Blaster laughed softly, and it was the strangest blend of gentle and bitter. Bittersweet, but softer.

"Hey... Why don't you come join everyone else, Sunstreaker?"

He didn't answer, suddenly terrified. Blaster seemed to read this in his Field and simply continued staring at him as calmly as he'd been for the entire odd conversation.

"C'mon," he entreated, "the other kids adore you. They _want_  you there! What've you got to lose?"

Sunstreaker couldn't respond, his vocalizer seizing up with panic; his optics were almost definitely white with terror. Blaster tilted his head, gaze narrowing.

"Unless... Say, how long were you alone? Before you found this ship, I mean."

"Not too long, just a couple of vorns," he said slowly. _Two hundred forty-two thousand, three hundred sixty solar cycles._

Blaster rocked backwards.

"Woah. Now _that's_  impressive. And no conversation with anyone?"

"... I killed a 'Con by the name Dreadwing and told him he was an idiot," Sunstreaker volunteered. That had been six-and-a-half vorns ago — that was kind of a conversation, wasn't it?

Blaster stared at him, his Field hovering around the edges of Sunstreaker's. Sunstreaker's optics narrowed, because if he was about to offend him with some paltry _pity_ —

"But you haven't spoken with Sideswipe?"

He reared back, unexpectedly stung.

"Sideswipe is—he's on a mission, he's busy—we're too far away to communicate over our bond—"

"And you haven't tried," Blaster accurately inferred.

Sunstreaker couldn't hold his gaze even as he said desperately, "Sideswipe volunteered, I couldn't risk distracting him—"

"And so, what, you stayed quiet because he left?"

A moment too long passed before he spoke.

"... Of course not," Sunstreaker denied unconvincingly. Blaster hummed thoughtfully.

"... Just think about it, alright? Consider it an order from your superior," He laughed, and Sunstreaker had the bizarre notion that a joke had just been told.

"... I'll think about it," he confirmed. Blaster smiled at him, totally relaxed, before taking his leave as casually as you please, and it was almost like having the one mech who'd never looked at him like he was a monster—

("You're _not_ a sociopath, Sunny, who said that?! I'll send them to Ratchet myself! In _pieces_!")

—and, for a blinding, brilliant moment, it was... Nice.

It was _nice_.

Keeping in mind Blaster's maybe-joke-simultaneous-order, Sunstreaker weighed the pro's and con's of simply staying in his self-assigned berth room for the duration of their journey - however long that was supposed to be. But Blaster was his CO, and Sunstreaker remembered that brief feeling of... Companionship? Camaraderie? _Not being alone?_

His brother would probably laugh himself to the point of purging if he ever saw Sunstreaker work himself up on such a subject.

The next solar cycle, Sunstreaker hesitated very briefly before bringing out his datapad, pretending to be engrossed in it even as he ambled into what had gradually become the common area. There was a slight hush in conversation, and Sunstreaker's plating trembled with distress from how stiffly he held himself, but he took a seat just slightly away from the others. It didn't even take a quarter-breem before the conversation levels had risen, and before he knew it Sunstreaker actually was as emerged as he pretended to be in his drawing, sketching with determination and focus.

" _Wow_ ," breathed a voice right in his audial, and Sunstreaker found that not only Hot Rod, who was hovering right over his shoulder in a way he really should have noticed earlier, but Ramjet, Blaster, Hotshot and Sunstorm had all wandered over to watch at some point.

Sunstreaker's internal fans kicked on embarrassedly; staring he was used to, but this was of the decidedly more friendly variety.

"Where's that?" Hot Rod asked, tone awed, and Sunstreaker found himself straightening with pleasure as he explained,

"This is a view of Iacon—I was on a retrieval mission with Mirage and Bumblebee once and I saw this sunrise, and the light reflected everywhere... See, those crumbling towers there used to be the spires, I think..."

"Yeah, definitely," Blaster agreed. He smiled at everyone's looks of surprise,

"What? I've been! Iacon's pretty rad if you know all the cool spots to chill."

"S-sure, if decrepit and c-crumbling is your style," Ramjet inserted slyly, twitching nervously at the laughs this bought him. Sunstorm snorted with laughter, but his expression was utterly impassive when Sunstreaker glanced at him.

Blaster whined, "Aw, no, c'mon, that just gives the place the whole esoteric vibe..."

"Or you're just eccentric," Sunstreaker found himself retorting.

Hotshot, Hot Rod and Ramjet snickered, and even Sunstorm allowed a small smirk to grace his faceplate before resettling into passivity.

"No no no, see, I'm _not_  eccentric, alright, I am _wise_ and _learned_!"

"Oh, y-you're learned at _something_  alr-right," Ramjet muttered, and Hotshot giggled. The red and blue mech at least had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed about it.

"You youngster," Blaster jokingly chided, "you-you fiend, you take that back!"

Sunstreaker stared at the red mech thoughtfully, glancing back down at his datapad. Should he, shouldn't he...

"And just how _wise_ and _learned_  are you, O Great Blaster?" Hot Rod asked ever-so-helpfully, and the communications officer smirked.

"Well, I hate to brag, but I _do_ know a thing or two..."

Whelp. That just made the caption a whole lot easier. _I Hate To Brag_ wasn't the worst title, after all.

Hot Rod choked when he caught sight of what Sunstreaker had quickly begun sketching, and his internal fans audibly kicked on — though Sunstreaker may have only heard them due to the red and orange mech's close proximity.

: _Sunstreaker, what the_  slagging pit?!: Hot Rod sent to him privately. Sunstreaker allowed his Field to briefly brush very lightly against Hot Rod's, revealing his smugness.

:Y _ou heard Blaster, he's_ wise and learned _. If we apparently poor students of his happen to learn just_ what _he's apparently so wise and learned in, however..._ :

There was an audible shrug in the golden mech's voice, and he reveled in Hot Rod's shock, embarrassment, hilarity and intrigue altogether.

Sunstreaker added a lazy splash of color to complete the image, making Hot Rod choke once more, and then sent the picture to his HUD before deleting the image on his datapad. Ignoring Hot Rod's groan of disappointment, he anonymously dumped the photo on the public access server.

A beat passed, and then Slipstream nearby began cackling hysterically almost immediately. This interrupted Blaster's grandiose retelling of some tall tale, and for a moment they all simply stared at the flier. Slipstream seemed as though she might be calming down almost a breem later, but then she caught of sight of Blaster and totally lost it, falling to the ground as her gleeful laughter renewed.

Hotshot, likely having just opened the filedrop, made a strangled squawking sound. He looked at Blaster, wheezed a long exhale, and then ran out of the room.

Blaster stared at them all bemusedly.

"... Do I have something on my face?" He asked, confused. Sunstreaker hid a smirk behind a servo, dutifully shaking his head in the negative, followed by Ramjet and Sunstorm.

Hot Rod had crouched under the table, mirth practically rolling off him in waves.

Blaster tilted his head suddenly.

"Hey, what's this fi...le. What. _What_."

A moment of silence passed. Sunstreaker kept his expression carefully neutral and controlled and Blaster flapped his mouth uselessly for several klicks.

"I DON'T BEND THIS WAY." He finally squeaked. And then his gaze darted to Sunstreaker.

" _You_. I'll get you back, you know!" He promised sincerely.

"What?" Sunstreaker asked, feigning confusion. "Did I do something?" He set his datapad flat on the table, showing the incomplete digital painting of the sunrise at Iacon.

A beat passed.

"... Did you really have to draw me like... _that_... with _Ironhide_  of all mechs?"

Ironhide would kill them both if he ever saw that.

Sunstreaker allowed himself a smirk.

"Yes," he answered smugly, "yes I did.

"WHAT IS THIS-THIS-!" Sunstorm suddenly spluttered, and Sunstreaker should have recorded this entire thing for posterity. This was hilarious and better than he'd imagined. _Sideswipe would have loved the chaos_ , Sunstreaker thought to himself almost absently as Sunstorm practically exploded, threatening the sender and reciting old spiritual cleansing hymns in equal turns. Blaster began chuckling darkly to himself even as Ramjet suddenly crashed. No doubt he'd just discovered the image. Somewhere else in the ship, Pyra Magna gave a startled scream. Hot Rod had joined Slipstream in cackling on the floor, and Hotshot slowly slunk his way back in, radiating embarrassment and unable to so much as look in Blaster's direction. Blurr ran in, babbling a thousand words a klik and saying something about Jetstorm crashing.

For the first time in a long, long while, the thought of Sideswipe didn't hurt.

This good feeling was destroyed a moment later when Blurr crashed into the room hurriedly.

" _Heyguys! Iknowyousaidnottodisturbyouforanythingunlessit'ssuperimportant, butIthinkyou'llbereallyinterestedinthisthingonourscanners_!"

* * *

 

"So... who wants to volunteer to go down there?"

There was a moment of silence. Blaster immediately took a step back, and Hot Rod was right on his heals. Sunstreaker briefly prayed for patience.

"Not _you_ , this calls for a flier. Again. Like _most_ of our missions?"

Slipstream immediately backpedaled, dragging Ramjet with her. The poor orange mech looked rather bewildered at his manhandling. Even Sunstorm looked displeased at volunteering for this trip.

"Oh no," the femme said, "Last time we volunteered for a planet-bound mission we had to fly through a _actively murderous atmosphere!_ There was _sparking plasma_! Do you _know_ how hard sparking plasma is to maneuver through?!"

Sunstreaker gave in to the urge to facepalm, very pointedly.

"I can do it!" Jetstorm volunteered enthusiastically.

Everyone simply _stared_  at him. The Seeker was... Not the best flier. He was actually rather horrible at it. So abysmal, in fact, that, frankly, Sunstreaker was almost entirely positive that he was the worst flier to ever fly in Cybertron's long, long history. Asking Jetstorm to fly somewhere successfully was like asking Blurr to speak in a slower pace for a breem; in short, it was inevitably destined for failure.

Jetstorm wilted at their stares.

"C'mon, guys, I _can!_ I'm the third best with long-distance weapons after Sunstreaker and Blaster!"

The sad truth was, this was true. Jetstorm would without a doubt be one of their most invaluable soldiers... _if he could actually fragging fly_. But the Trine was refusing to go, and Jetstorm was their only other flier.

Damn it. Sunstreaker hated being the nominated leader.

"You go straight there; no detours, no getting lost, just straight to the beacon, see what you can scavenge, and get out. Got it?" Sunstreaker demanded. Jetstorm beamed down at him. Slagging Seekers, being so _big_.

"You got it, Sunshine!"

Sunstreaker's servo twitched towards his subspace, suddenly itching with the urge to stab something — preferably Jetstorm's suddenly nervous form.

"Call me Sunshine one more time. Go on. _I dare you._ "

He laughed nervously.

"Uh, h-how 'bout I go check out that beacon? Like, right away? As in now?"

Blaster laughed. Sunstreaker, optics narrowing even further, sent him The Picture without even looking. The laughter cut off immediately, satisfyingly enough.

"Goodluck, Jetstorm!" Blurr said enthusiastically, ever supportive of his flying counterpart.

His counterpart in messing up, that was. They were both phenomenal experts by this point in messing up.

"Thanks, Blurr," the Seeker said gratefully.

They spent several long moments simply smiling at one another.

Sunstreaker rolled his optics hard enough to hurt. Bleurgh. Could they _not_?

* * *

 

: _Are you on point, Jetstorm?_ : Blaster asked, leaning back in his chair. It made the communications officer look oddly important, though that effect was ruined by the continuous swiveling he was doing.

: _You bet!_ : Replied the Seeker, tone distracted as he no doubt carefully maneuvered against the solar winds. Or attempted to. He could have been caught in a tornado for all they knew and the flier would have sounded the same.

Sunstreaker knew this to be a fact. It had happened before. _Twice_.

: _Hey, I found the source! It looks like it's definitely coming from a ship!_ : Jetstorm suddenly gasped over the comm., and there was a sigh of relief around the room. Sunstreaker, rather relieved himself, spoke.

: _Good work, Jetstorm,_ : he said, and he could almost feel the blue mech preen.

: _Can you find a way inside, or are you gonna have to blow the hull?_ : Asked Blaster.

There was a moment of silence, then;

: _Found a way! Though, uh... I think I'm gonna be more careful... This hole is really,_ really _clean, you know? And I don't mean in a clean break kind of way, but more like someone took a laser and sawed their way through... Either in or out._ :

Whatever celebratory relief there still was in the command center instantly evaporated at Jetstorm's words, leaving only terse silence behind.

: _Stay on your guard,_ : Sunstreaker ordered tersely.

Jetstorm laughed nervously.

: _C'mon, Sunshine, aren't I always?_ :

If the situation weren't so potentially precarious, Sunstreaker would have thrown a long litany of swears at him.

A breem later, Jetstorm uttered a rare oath.

: _Fragging pit-_ : He snarled, and everyone keyed into the channel straightened.

: _Jetstorm, report!_ : Blaster ordered from his station.

The flier's response was tense,

: _Sorry, tripped over some siphoned cubes. Looks like I was right about someone sawing their way in, but the Decepticon that broke in here is dead. It's_ his  _energon I tripped over; spilled right on my pedes, so now I'm leaving a fragging trail._ :

: _Siphoned energon that wasn't_ emptied _? That's it, I'm calling it. Get back here, Jetstorm._ : Sunstreaker demanded.

There was a moment of silence, made all the more worrying when Jetstorm didn't immediately argue.

: _... I think I'm gonna have to belay that, Sunshine._ :

: _Jetstorm, respond;_  what is going on?: The frontliner barked harshly.

There wasn't a response.

" _Get the Trine in here!_ " Sunstreaker roared furiously.

Blurr scrambled to obey, speeding out the room rather than waste time using the comm.'s. A blink later and he was back with Slipstream in tow, and with another blink Ramjet was there. There wasn't a third blink, but Sunstorm was too dangerous to touch without the proper precautions anyways thanks to his inability to control his radiation output.

"You two, gear up!" The gold mech demanded, "We've lost contact with Jetstorm; there's a strong possibility of hostiles, so expectations for Jetstorm's survival are minimal. Make getting him a _priority_ , am I understood?!"

"Yes, sir!" Slipstream barked, sliding into a seamless salute. Her military programming really shone through in that moment. Ramjet followed a half-klik after her clumsily, twitching nervously as he was wont to do.

"Get Sunstorm and head out immediately," he ordered. The two quickly departed, either or both of them contacting their third.

Sunstreaker grit his denta; if they only had some way of getting grounders out there, he'd be the first in line. But the ship was too large a target against heat winds, so he was stuck. And he couldn't simply leave anyways because there was no sure way to get back, and Sunstreaker was many things but he wasn't suicidal. Plus there was an example to be set.

Being the leader _sucked aft_.

(And by Primus, say what you will about Optimus Prime but the mech definitely knew how to be a good, moral example. Being good at killing people was rather the opposite of that, in Sunstreaker's finely tuned opinion.)

But delegation was also a trait Sunstreaker had reluctantly learned to hone, so all that was left to do was wait and hope that he'd successfully trained Slipstream, Ramjet, and Sunstorm enough in the relatively short time he'd trained them to actually make their first kill if it came to that.

It probably would. Primus was a cruel glitch like that.


End file.
